


i wanna live my life from a new perspective

by thescrewtapedemos



Series: Vices (ever since we met) [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Comeplay, Fluff and Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Spanking, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallon is totally cool with his place in life. He’s got a sick band that plays music that the kids love and he’s making some pretty serious money from it, especially for being a music job. He’s got a sweet little apartment and more instruments than he knows what to do with. He's visited more foreign places than he'd even really considered existed and met people more famous than him by an embarrassing margin.</p><p>And he has sex on a regular basis with his drummer, his lead singer, and his lead singer’s incredibly gorgeous wife.</p><p>He plucks morosely at the strings of his guitar. He’s in a Smiths sort of mood. Morrissey, he thinks, would probably handle the whole situation about as badly as he is. Maybe even worse. Good old Morrissey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna live my life from a new perspective

**Author's Note:**

> my only defense is that it's my six month anniversary and my boyfriend requested the best present ever. and that i am trash. enjoy xoxo

Dallon is totally cool with his place in life. He’s got a sick band that plays music that the kids love and he’s making some pretty serious money from it, especially for being a music job. He’s got a sweet little apartment and more instruments than he knows what to do with. He's visited more foreign places than he'd even really considered existed and met people more famous than him by an embarrassing margin.

And he has sex on a regular basis with his drummer, his lead singer, and his lead singer’s incredibly gorgeous wife.

Which would, in Dallon’s mind, lead to sunning himself smugly by the pool with like, a margarita or a daiquiri or something. Martini maybe. Not moping around his living room plucking stupidly melancholy songs on his acoustic. He’s a failure at being the smug prick he by rights should be, he thinks morosely. He ought to be out bragging it up – not that he would, he’s not that kind of dude, but still – not trying not to think about how much he misses the three of them.

They’re not like that, the four of them. They’re casual, low-key, nothing solid. Friends with benefits, sort of, except they’re also working together and Brendon and Sarah are married and he’s pretty sure Spencer is somehow dating Brendon at the very least, and-

Well, whatever. He’s not dating any of them. Technically, he’s single.

He shouldn’t have answered his mom’s call, he knows. He’s fresh off a tour and he’s still tired. Isn’t used to being on his own yet either, it’s turning out to be kind of a difficult transition to go from living almost literally on top of Spencer and Brendon to having a whole apartment to himself. So maybe he’s a little like, emotionally vulnerable.

Which doesn’t do enough explain why he’d stumbled so badly when his mom had asked him off-handedly if he’d found himself a good girl yet. He’d spent a solid half-minute choking on his words, had to lie and explain his awkwardness away as embarrassment over a girl that hadn’t liked him back. She’d tutted and given him a twenty minute speech on there being many more fish in the sea, that he was a fine young man, that someone would realize it eventually. He’d been choking the whole time.

It’s not like he’s going to tell the truth. Just admit it all like, “Yeah mom, I’m technically still single! But I’m not really looking because I did find an amazing girl! She’s married to the lead singer of my band, but that’s alright because she and her husband both fuck me on a regular basis! Oh, and the drummer of that band? He fucks me too! Aren’t you proud?”

Dallon has a sneaking suspicion that wouldn’t go over so well with the LDS. He’s not sure he even _knows_ all the different sins he’s committing. Adultery and sodomy, at the very least.

He plucks morosely at the strings of his guitar. He’s in a Smiths sort of mood. Morrissey, he thinks, would probably handle the whole situation about as badly as he is. Maybe even worse. Good old Morrissey.

He’s muddling his way through the fingerpicking for Asleep when his ass starts vibrating.

He nearly tosses his guitar across the room in the process of digging his phone out of his pocket, and has a similar mishap trying to juggle them both and set the right one down on the coffee table. He’s panting a little bit by the end of it and he answers the call without looking at the ID.

“Hello?” he says breathlessly.

There’s a moment of silence and then a little laugh from the other end. Dallon’s stomach flips over.

“Hello to _you_ ,” Brendon purrs, sounding kind of like he’s imitating a cheap porno. Dallon is extremely ashamed of the fact he’s still turned on by it. “Just what did I catch you doing, Weekes?”

“Playing guitar,” Dallon answers, still breathless, and ignores the way Brendon’s throaty little chuckle at his words makes his dick twitch in his pants. He _had_ been playing guitar, dammnit. Morrissey no less.

“Sure,” Brendon breathes and there’s the unmistakable rustle of clothes at the other end of the line. “I was going to say that you should come over to play, Sarah hasn't seen you since the first night. But if you want to get the party started _now_ …”

He trails off into a moan that Dallon is about ninety percent sure is all fake. It’s the ten percent margin of error that makes him stutter for a long moment because, fuck, he does want to go over to Brendon’s place but he isn't sure he should. He also kind of wants to get his hand in his pants and jack off. It’s a lot to process.

He’s saved by a yelp that’s unmistakably Brendon on the other end, and the sound of the phone clattering to the floor. A moment later it’s scooped up again.

“You’re being bad again, Brendon,” Spencer says, sounding amused and muffled like he isn't speaking into the phone. “You should come over, Dallon,” he continues, much more understandable and significantly gentler. “We miss you.”

“I- um,” Dallon says intelligently, because Spencer’s words had sort of punched him in the chest a little bit. _Chill the fuck out_ , he thinks to himself fiercely. _They really don’t mean it like that and you’re being a loser_.

“We kind of want to play, but if you don’t we can just hang out,” Spencer says, casual like he isn’t talking about. About the stuff that would make Dallon’s mom literally explode, Dallon thinks hysterically and a choked little laugh bubbles out of him.

“Well,” he says, and then loses what he’d been about to say.

“Come on, Weekes,” Spencer coaxes, sounding somehow even gentler and also deeply amused at his incompetence.

What would Morrissey do, Dallon wonders, and then winces. Nothing good, probably.

“Yeah, give me twenty,” he says at last, and smiles. It comes naturally and hey, wow, his dick is twitching a little bit at the thought. “Should I bring anything?”

“Hmmm,” Spencer hums, and Dallon feels arousal start to pool in his gut at the sound. Spencer made the same noise when considering buying beautiful drumkits or smacking Brendon’s ass. “What do you think, Sarah, we need anything?”

There’s a distant laugh, sweet and feminine and enough to have Dallon half-hard already.

“Didn’t think so,” Spencer says smugly. “Just come. Or, you know. Just get over here.” He laughs like a loser at his own dumb innuendo and Dallon somehow can’t catch his breath.

“Okay, right,” he stutters, and hangs up on Spencer’s laughter.

He has to spend a long time pressing a palm to his erection, bucking a little into the pressure and moaning quietly into the silence of his apartment.

He goes and gets his shoes.

-0-

His hands are a little shaky when he reaches for the doorknob. It’s unlocked – because they’d been expecting him, had asked him over.

He takes a steadying breath and opens the door, stepping inside.

The hallway is deserted, though he hears voices deeper in the house. He pauses and toes his shoes off.

When he’s done and looks up Brendon’s turning the corner into the hallway at top speed, rebounding off the wall and freezing. He’s panting, staring at Dallon.

“Dallon,” Brendon breathes, and throws himself at him.

He’s a warm, squirming weight and they slam into the door. Brendon’s trying to climb him like a tree, it feels like, his leg pressing between Dallon’s, face pressing into his neck for a moment before there’s the sharp sting of teeth and then he’s leaning up and seeking Dallon’s mouth with his. He’s hard, burning and heavy against Dallon’s hip.

Dallon is suddenly, blindingly turned on, leaning down a little bit to meet Brendon’s frantic mouth.

Brendon moans, rolls his hips to press his erection against Dallon’s hip. He’s breathing frantically, his shirt half undone when Dallon’s grasping hands find his hips. His skin is hot and there’s sweat slick in the v of his hips that Dallon presses his thumbs into.

“Boys,” Sarah says and Brendon drops back to nose against Dallon’s neck, hips stilling their frantic rolling. Dallon looks up to see her standing at the end of the hall, arms crossed, smiling the damning little half smile that means she’s got _plans_.

“Dallon’s here,” Sarah calls over her shoulder into the house. Spencer’s voice answers with a wordless shout.

“They haven’t let me come all _day_ ,” Brendon whines into Dallon’s chest, words trailing off into a moan as he rolls his hips again. It leaves Dallon gasping, distracted, cock twitching in his boxers, and he looks up to find that he’d missed Sarah walking over. She’s smiling at them still, softening as her eyes travel up from Brendon’s shivering body to meet Dallon’s eyes.

He shudders when her palm cups his cheek and pulls his face down for a kiss. It’s chaste and sweet and affects him nearly as much as Brendon’s desperate mouth had before.

Spencer is standing at the end of the hallway when Dallon is allowed back up. He’s smiling too, quirked and sarcastic as always. He raises an eyebrow at Brendon, who makes a face back.

He turns his eyes back to Dallon and his smile goes dark and sharp and sweet. Dallon’s breath catches.

“Got a present for you,” Spencer says, and then snickers dryly. “If you can get farther than the door, I mean.”

“Spencer,” Sarah says reproachfully, and shifts a slim hand down Dallon’s arm to hold his wrist. It’s gentle, would be easy to break out of even if Sarah tried to stop him, which she wouldn’t. But it means something, and something shaky and nervous quiets inside him. His head is still, finally, at last. He knows what to do. He follows Spencer and Sarah's rules and they take care of them.

Nothing scary at all.

He feels his body relax back against the door under Brendon's weight, watches Sarah's smile turn meaningful when she realizes. The air is less tense now, somehow electric.

“Fuck,” Brendon breathes, hips rolling again and head coming up to nose at Dallon’s jaw. “So hot, fuck, Dallon.”

“Let’s get this party started,” Spencer says and beckons down the hall.

An instant later he’s being pulled forward, Sarah at one wrist and Brendon almost more of a hindrance clinging to his other side. Any tension he has left is slipping away somewhere in the blur of hands and Brendon’s sweat-slick skin and Sarah’s hair flicking him in the face, in the laughing moment when Brendon abandons him to try to climb Spencer.

They tumble into the room in a cloud of laughter and Spencer pulls out of the tangle to press a kiss to his lips, smiling happily when he pulls back.

“I felt left out,” he says slyly, and Dallon grins back giddily. He loves Spencer like this, cunning and affectionate and happy.

“What first?” Sarah asks, nudging her way between them. She’s addressing Spencer, who tilts his head, considering.

“I’ll go get the present,” Spencer decides, sharing a conspiratorial look with Sarah before stepping back out into the hall. The door shuts with a thump and Sarah’s attention returns to Brendon, although her fingers stay locked around Dallon’s wrist. They’re pressing in firmly, gentle still but enough to have the instinct to go to his knees whisper through his head.

He doesn’t, because they technically haven’t started playing until Sarah and Spencer ask for their safeword, but. The air is hot and electric, and it’s _going_ to happen.

“Brendon, naked on the bed please-,” Sarah begins, and Brendon is halfway through throwing his clothes across the room before she’s finished. “-And be neat about it,” she finishes reproachfully.

Brendon makes a face but he retrieves the shirt sulkily and folds it up to set neatly on the dresser. His pants follow them, and then his boxers and he’s naked, still making sulky faces at them as he crawls up on the bed.

He’s hard, too. Cock flushed red, head wet with precum. Abruptly Dallon’s mouth is watering a little bit.

Sarah strokes his wrist once and then lets go. A pang of loss goes through him but she beckons him after her and he follows as she steps up to the edge of the bed.

Brendon follows her guiding hands wordlessly, pouting evaporating into blank arousal as she turns him around and pushes him down to his hands and knees. He starts to shake his ass at them goofily until Sarah taps his shoulder reprovingly and he stills with a mutter.

Brendon’s ass is red, and hot when Dallon reaches out without thinking to trail his fingertips over it. Brendon gasps when he does, moans and arches into the touch in a way Dallon can’t call anything but _slutty_. It thrusts his ass further into the air, just enough to make the marks resolve into the vague shape of a handprint.

“Brendon was bad, earlier,” Sarah says, stepping up beside Dallon and passing her fingertips over the mark. “We had to give him a spanking. And then he liked that too much so we had to give him another.”

The handprint is too big to be her hand, has to have been Spencer’s, and a bolt of arousal and aching jealousy goes through Dallon. He can see it, can see Brendon spread across Spencer’s lap, gasping and begging and noisy like he always is. Crying out for more when Spencer’s hand catches him particularly hard. Or maybe in Sarah’s lap, cradled just so to present for Spencer.

Brendon whines as Dallon presses his fingers harder into the mark. He’s twitching, hips thrusting emptily into thin air, breath gasping in his throat.

Sarah reaches down between Brendon's legs and flicks the head of Brendon cock just so, hard enough to have him crying out. So shrill it's nearly a scream. His hips twitch again, seeking friction that doesn't exist or maybe more pain. What Dallon can see of his face is red-cheeked and teary-eyed.

“You want to tell Dallon why you had to get punished, babe?” Sarah asks, sounding amused and unaffected. She's smiling beatifically when Dallon dares a glance at her, watching Brendon with dark heat and soft, sweet affection. She turns the same smile on him a moment later and his heart flips open in his chest. He has to look away, cheeks heating, back to Brendon squirming under the force of their gaze.

“I,” Brendon gasps, face turning into the bed a little bit, cheeks reddening a little more. “I touched myself when you said not to.”

“Shit,” Dallon says, punched out of him. He suddenly wants to get a hand on himself, a little friction, a little relief.

“And then?” Sarah continues. She's smoothing a hand across Brendon ass and when he shakes his head mutely she sighs and smacks his ass lightly. He jumps and cries out.

“He kept being bad,” she addresses Dallon, “so we had to spank him twice. He wasn't supposed to touch himself until you got here but you know Brendon.”

The sound of the door opening distracts them from more.

“Got your present,” Spencer says, closing the door behind him. He's got an arm hidden behind his back and when Dallon make a questioning noise he pulls his hand out with a grin.

He’s got a set of cuffs hanging from one finger.

They’re beautiful, padded crimson leather, riveted with shiny steel and connected by a length of chain through a ring on each cuff.

Behind him Brendon yelps and there’s a thump on the bed, and then Sarah has a hand on Dallon’s elbow, guiding him back until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sits down heavily. He can’t take his eyes of the cuffs.

He’s had his hands tied before – rope, scarves on tours when they couldn’t risk bringing more, even the set of cuffs that nominally were for Brendon. They're black, Brendon’s cuffs, thick and ostentatious and don't fit Dallon so well. These look bigger, look like they’d hold Dallon without bruising, look like they were bought with him in _mind_ and-

That means something, he thinks, but he can’t follow the thought. He’s having a hard to thinking in general, watching the cuffs in Spencer’s hand as he walk over. His breathing keeps on catching in his chest and fuck, fuck.

There’s something shaking and tight in his stomach. He wants them, suddenly, wants to touch them. Wants them on him.

“Like them?” Spencer asks, smiling, when he’s standing in front of him. It takes a moment for the words to pierce Dallon’s brain and he looks up to meet Spencer’s blue, blue eyes dizzily. He towers over Dallon like this. He fills up everything Dallon can see, everything that exists. He's not touching him yet but he wants him to.

“Yes,” he says, voice breaking so badly he has to clear his throat to continue. “They're pretty.”

“Sarah and Brendon and I, we all picked them out for you,” Spencer says, and there's... there's something about his voice. Something hiding in the tone, one of the Spencer-things that he sometimes did, refusing to outright say what he means. It's a thickness in his tone, Dallon thinks dizzily.

He can't think through what it means though, not now, not with the silvery chain hanging and swaying in front of his eyes. He can barely take his eyes off of it to look Spencer in the eyes.

“They're perfect,” he says, and hopes too much isn't showing in his tone.

Spencer smiles at him and cups his cheek in his free hand. His smile is too much, too big and bright and loving, and Dallon turns his face away to nose into his palm. It smells of leather and he presses kisses to it until Spencer pulls gently away.

“Glad you think so,” Spencer says, and wraps the length of chain meaningfully around his palm. Dallon shivers. “What's your safeword?”

“Uh, ecology,” he says and almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s shaking, thin, almost a needy sound.

“And what's yours, Brendon?” Sarah asks over Dallon’s shoulder. Belatedly Dallon looks back.

He has to haul in a breath. Brendon and Sarah are beautiful, Dallon knows, but it’s different like this. When Brendon is a ruined mess, hands clutched together tight behind his back, head forced back to expose a neck that already has dark bruises blooming on it. When Sarah is straddling his lap, hand in his hair what's forcing his head back, hair thrown carelessly over one shoulder and flashing eyes fixed on him so sternly.

They'd been watching, Dallon realizes and his cock twitches again. Watching Spencer show off his present. It’s almost more than he can handle and he aches to touch.

“I,” Brendon stumbles, and bucks up against Sarah. “Stenograph. Please, I-”

“Hush,” Sarah soothes, and Brendon settles beneath her with a quiet noise.

“We'll cuff you in a minute, don't be greedy,” Spencer admonishes. Brendon mutters rebelliously but his eyes are dark and hot on Dallon, leave him feeling stripped-down and exposed.

“You're going to watch Dallon get cuffed and you're going to be very patient,” Sarah tells Brendon, pulling his head around until Brendon is forced to meet her eyes. “If you're good we'll all play but if you're bad we'll cuff you to the chair and all you'll get is to watch.”

Brendon whines, sounding utterly destroyed, and when Sarah lets go of his hair he turns to look back at Dallon with even more molten heat in his gaze.

“Who do you want to cuff you?” Sarah asks, eyes kind on him.

He looks between them, at Sarah’s hand on Brendon’s hair and the way Spencer’s clever fingers are turning the red leather in his hands. He can’t think, the choice so far beyond him that in the end it comes down to the fact that Spencer is the one holding the cuffs right at that moment.

“Spencer,” he manages, sounding thick and choked. Spencer nods and steps up to the edge of the bed.

“C’mere,” he says softly, and beckons Dallon forward. “Shirt off.”

Dallon strips out of his shirt with a frisson of nerves, the sense of impending things. At Spencer’s urging touch he pulls his arms up behind his back, crossing his arms at the wrist and holding them there.

The cuffs close around his wrists, pulling his arms up behind him. Spencer spends several long moments adjusting the length of the chain to keep his arms together and then running his fingers around the edge of the cuffs, brushing across his wrists and palms.

Something in Dallon’s chest ticks over, flicks from one setting to the next, and his spine straightens with it. Spencer’s fingers leave his wrists to stroke down the length of his back, pressing into the dip of his spine. The sensation makes him stretch, the movement pulling his cuffed arms tighter.

“Say thank you,” Spencer says, smile evident in his tone. Dallon flushes, feeling heat prickling in his cheeks.

“Thank you, Spencer,” he says, his tongue tangling dumbly in his mouth. Spencer hums and runs his fingers down Dallon’s spine one last time.

“Good boy,” he says, and heat flares in the pit of Dallon’s stomach. His cock twitches. “I want you up on the bed, I’m going to take the rest of your clothes off.”

It takes Dallon a couple of tries to get up on the bed, graceless and clumsy, but he manages eventually with cheeks stained red and hot embarrassment mixing with arousal in his chest. Spencer watches the whole time, damning little smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

Sarah is naked too, when Dallon managed enough coordination to pay attention again. She’s beautiful, all curve and smooth skin and grace, so much that Dallon wants to look away out of respect. She looks perfect too, not a hair out of place as she straddles Brendon’s lap. She’s murmuring in his ear, words Dallon can’t heat but that turn Brendon’s eyes dark and vacant and hungry. He’s still watching Dallon.

Spencer’s hands land on Dallon’s waist, right at his waistband, and Dallon forgets to pay attention to them.

“Left leg up, and then right,” Spencer directs, unsnapping the button and then working the pants down his thighs. He doesn’t bother with finesse, pulling boxers down with it, the most care taken in lifting around Dallon’s cock before firmly pulling over one knee and then the other.

Dallon’s naked, then, arms cuffed behind his back. He feels more naked than simple nudity, feels himself shaking for a moment before Spencer’s hands land on his sides again and Spencer’s making pleased noises in his ear.

“Good,” Spencer says, and then bites down on the join of Dallon’s shoulder and neck. He whimpers and stays still until Spencer pulls back with a satisfied noise. He’s pretty sure there’s going to be a mark later in the shape of Spencer’s teeth. “You look good like this. So fucking hot.”

“Nnn,” is all Dallon manages, and then Spencer is guiding him to sit back on his heels.

“I’m gonna get you ready now, alright? You’re going to ride Brendon,” Spencer tells him, and Dallon makes a wordless noise. Spencer taps his shoulder reprovingly. “Yes or no, Dallon.”

“Yes,” Dallon manages. “Please, Spencer.”

“Good,” Spencer says, sounding pleased, and pushes forward until Dallon’s bent at the waist, cheek resting on the blankets. It leaves his ass in the air, and Spencer runs his hands over it.

Dallon’s never considered himself to have a great ass. Spencer appears to disagree, spending long minutes just squeezing, digging fingertips into the meat of his ass before spreading him and running firm fingers over his hole. It’s hard to think through and Dallon doesn’t even try, gives himself up to the sensation and just does his best not to make his noises too loudly.

Spencer lets go for a moment, leans away and when he comes back and spreads Dallon’s ass again the fingers he presses to Dallon’s hole are wet and slick.

One finger presses inside, thick and just the good side of burning. Dallon does his best to relax and for his part Spencer doesn’t wait, thrusts into him until Dallon’s hole is slick and the glide is easy before pulling out momentarily and pressing back in with two fingers this time. That hurts for real and Dallon whimpers. Spencer slows, waits for Dallon to relax before pressing forward again.

Like every time before Dallon already feels full, feels like he could barely take any more. He can’t fathom being able to take Brendon’s cock, let alone Spencer’s. He wants to - _god_ he wants to, wants it more than anything – but it feels like it’ll break him. Spencer and Sarah wouldn’t let that happen, though, and he relaxes against Spencer’s fingers at last. Spencer makes a pleased noise and pulls out again.

Dallon’s expecting Spencer to urge him up to move over to Brendon but he doesn’t. He presses back in with a third finger instead and this time he moves forward in torturous increments. Dallon can’t stop his whining, high and rising higher, volume increasing with every new sensation. This, the third finger, means Brendon isn’t going to be the only one fucking him tonight. He’s going to be fucked by Spencer too, probably.

He moans louder.

By the time Spencer’s finished with him he’s a shaking mess, can’t get together two syllables, can’t even think in sentences that don’t begin and end with the words _want_ and _need_.

“I think you’re prepared,” Spencer says, helping him to sit up. Dallon whimpers at the sensation of moving with his ass full of lube. “How’s Brendon?” Spencer continues, directed over Dallon’s shoulder. Dallon looks up to see for himself.

Brendon is a red-faced mess still, worse than before even. Sarah’s got a hand on him, wrapped tight around his cock. It looks wet, with lube or precum or both, and it takes Dallon a long moment to realize that while Spencer had been fingering him open Sarah had cuffed Brendon too.

His arms are stretched above his head, fingers loosely curled together, wrists beautiful in his cuffs. He’s watching Dallon the same way Dallon’s watching him, hot appreciation and anticipation.

“I think he’s ready,” Sarah says with a laugh that’s almost too light for the thick, hot anticipation coiling in Dallon’s gut. Spencer laughs too and urges Dallon forward.

Kneeing his way forward until he’s straddling Brendon is awkward but he manages, ends up hovering over him wavering without his arms for balance. Spencer’s hand on his back is all the keeps him upright.

“Here,” Sarah says, and then there’s a long moment of too many hands on him. Spencer’s hands guiding him down slowly, Sarah’s hands guiding his hips and Brendon’s cock into place. Spencer’s hands stop him there and he freezes in space.

“You’re not allowed to come until we say to, understand?” Sarah says. Dallon gasps for breath.

“Yes,” he manages, and pulls in another panting lungful of air. “Yes Sarah.”

“Good.”

Another moment of being guided into place and then the blunt head of Brendon’s cock nudging against his hole – sparking anticipation, coiling arousal, he wants it so badly – before Spencer’s hands are gone and he’s sinking down onto Brendon’s cock.

He’s wet enough to turn the friction mostly into a glide, long and torturous. Brendon helps along with little hitching thrusts, lack of leverage rendering him almost helpless but the motions still sending pleasure skittering through him. Dallon feel full far before Brendon’s fully inside, feels the fullness grow and grow until he’s sure he can’t take anymore and then-

Brendon moans, and Dallon does too because Brendon’s fully inside him now and the sensation is always so, so good. Just this side of pleasure, just a little too full to be perfectly comfortable and the little sting just adding to the overwhelming sensation.

Dallon gathers himself enough to look to Spencer and Sarah for direction.

Sarah’s seated in Spencer’s lap, completely at ease, watching them. She gestures with one hand when she sees him looking. Spencer’s hands are sliding up her inner thighs. 

“You know what you’re supposed to be doing,” she says, tone ever so slightly hoarse.

It takes Dallon a long moment to understand, brain taken up by the subtle motion of Spencer’s fingers as he reaches the apex of her thighs and begins to stroke over her. He turns to looks back at Brendon as she begins to moan. He’s watching Sarah still, eyes only flickering back to Dallon as he gathers his legs beneath him.

They roll back when Dallon levers himself up the first time, pulling up until just the head of Brendon’s cock is inside him before dropping himself back down, seated fully on his cock again.

Dallon’s thighs begin to burn nearly instantly, a gasping pain that must pull his internal muscles tight because Brendon is moaning like a slut beneath him, writhing and thrusting up in the little space allowed them.

He’s not out of shape, kind of the opposite actually, but he’s never been forced to exercise these muscles like this before. Whenever he’d ridden Spencer or Brendon before he’d had his hands, or theirs, supporting him. It feels good, though, feels clean and like it’s just making every stuttering brush of Brendon’s cock inside of him ten times more. He’s just not sure he can do this until Brendon comes. His muscles are shaking already. 

He lasts long enough for Brendon to be totally incoherent, a sweaty mess beneath him, before the burn gets so bad he stops.

“I- I can’t, it’s,” Dallon gasps, thighs giving out. He drops, trembling, Brendon suddenly balls-deep in him. They both cry out, Brendon bucking up into him seemingly involuntarily.

There’s a long moment of struggle before Dallon decides that no, he really can’t anymore. A moment of hot shame tempered by his arousal at Brendon’s cock still inside him. Brendon’s squirming a little bit, the tiniest rocking sensation. He can’t think, can’t work out what to do except sit there on Brendon’s cock and gasp for air.

“It’s alright, I’ll help,” he hears Spencer say. He can’t understand, doesn’t comprehend his words until Spencer is crawling into place behind him, a warm presence.

Spencer’s hands land on his hips and suddenly he’s being lifted, Brendon’s cock dragging inside him. A moment later Spencer’s hands relax and gravity pulls him back down onto Brendon’s cock. He cries out, and maybe Brendon does too, it’s hard to tell over the roaring in his ears.

Spencer does it again, and again, and Brendon shouts with it. Dallon can barely breathe, Brendon’s cock feels like it fills him up so much there’s no room to breathe. It’s all he can do to put his own muscles into it, head lolling back, loosely clenched fingers brushing Spencer every few thrusts. He feels the head of Spencer’s cock, hard and wet, dragging against the base of his spine. He wants to touch but doesn’t know how to say so, how to make his desire known, how to do anything but gasp and whine and take Brendon’s cock.

The pace Spencer sets is punishing. Brendon’s nearly crying, bucking until Sarah crawls forward to hold his shoulders up and run soothing hands down his arms. It barely calms him, and Dallon’s dimly aware Brendon’s going to come soon. It’s a good thing, he can feel himself edging towards coming too and he’d been told not to, told he had to wait.

It takes another minute, in the end. Brendon comes with something approaching a scream, shrill and loud and needy.

His come is hot and wet in Dallon’s ass. It shouldn’t be a sexy sensation, Dallon is dimly aware. It should be disgusting, shouldn’t be something that makes him clench down around Brendon’s softening cock. Shouldn’t make him moan so wantonly, uncontrollable high noises. Shouldn’t make him want it _again_ , want someone else coming in him.

Spencer’s hands on his hips smooth down once and then grip again, lifting Dallon up until Brendon’s cock slides free. Come slides out after it, little drops down the insides of his thighs, and he can’t stop his _noises_. Spencer makes a soft sound in his ear, a dark one that makes his stomach turn over.

“Fuck, I love how you get off on that,” he says, tone just as dark and turned on, and then Dallon’s being pulled around to face the wall, chest and cheek pressed to it and Spencer pressing up against his back a heavy, warm weight.

“Good?” Spencer asks, tone strained.

Dallon can’t speak, can’t line up the words to do it, but he nods and Spencer moans a little bit.

Dallon’s prepared for it but it still makes his thighs shake when Spencer slides into him, thicker than Brendon but not by too much. Dallon is already slick with lube and Brendon's come anyway, stretched from riding him. It's so good and Spencer is setting the perfect pace in moments. Drummer rhythm, and an amazing angle brushing his prostate often enough but not so often as to distract him from the sharp, full feeling of _being fucked_.

It so good he can't stop the noise coming from his mouth. Garbled nonsense words and sharp moans. Interrupted, hitching panting. He loses time, to Spencer's bruising grip on his hips and the press of wall against his cheek. He wants to come so badly tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Neither Spencer nor Sarah has said he could so he tries not to scream when Spencer shifts his angle and slams into his prostate. He sees stars, lights in the edges of his vision, he's so close and desperate.

Spencer is losing rhythm though. He's closer. All Dallon has to do is hold on.

“Spencer,” he hears Sarah say, barely able to process the word through the thick, warm haze in his head.

Abruptly Spencer is leaning away from him, his body heat slipping away, his rhythm going shallow and slow. His hands don’t leave his hips but they slacken, Spencer’s attention distracted for a moment. It takes all Dallon has to turn his head but he’s glad he does. Sarah and Spencer are kissing, one of Sarah’s hand on the back of Spencer’s neck. The other hand is – Dallon looks down and then has to sink his teeth into his lip because, fuck, fuck.

Sarah’s other hand is knotted in Brendon’s hair, guiding Brendon’s head between her legs. Her hips are moving a little bit and when Dallon manages to hold his gasping breathing for a moment he can make out her hitching little noises. They’re getting sharper, too, Sarah’s fingers going white-knuckled in Brendon’s hair.

Sarah pulls back from the kiss suddenly, head tilting back and hips snapping forward with more force than before. Dallon can make out the way her fingernails are suddenly digging into Spencer’s neck, the shaking grip she has on Brendon’s hair.

“ _Bren_ -,” she manages and comes, word disintegrating into a high, sweet whine.

Dallon _whimpers_ and turns his face away, because. He can’t take it, he can’t, it’s too much.

Spencer’s hands tighten on his hips and he slams into him once, again, and then comes. It’s a hot, slick feeling inside Dallon and he whimpers at it. Spencer and Brendon’s come inside of him, he thinks, and then he can’t think at all. His thoughts are gone, all he can manage impulse and noise. He wants a hand on him, wants Spencer to touch him, wants to touch him in return. Wants to touch Sarah as well, and Brendon, wants to please them all so badly.

Spencer pulls out, hands gentle again, and helps him to turn around and kneel down, back against the wall. He’s especially careful with the way Dallon’s posture pulls his cuffed hands tight, spends long moments pressing firm fingers into the knots forming in his shoulders and arms. When he’s satisfied with that he runs gentle, callused palms over Dallon’s ribs, sides, stomach. He touches the finger-shaped marks on Dallon’s hips almost worshipfully. Something about the touch leaves Dallon centered but still shaking, still almost out of his mind.

When he runs a perfunctory finger down the length of Dallon’s cock Dallon cries out, bucking, stars going off behind his eyes.

“You didn’t come,” Spencer says, and Dallon registers this probably needs a response. Spencer’s tone is awed, almost, or maybe more pleased. Dallon still can’t think.

“No, I-,” he whispers, and whines as Spencer’s hand dips to cup his balls. “You said. I didn’t.”

“You did so good,” Spencer says, smiling proudly at him.

Dallon turns his face away. There’s something shaking and needy in his belly, something almost like his need to come but more like he needs Spencer to say more. He wants to be told he’s been good. He needs that.

Spencer’s hand under his chin forces his head back around. His eyes are light and smiling when Dallon meets them reluctantly.

“You did, you were a very good boy,” he says and Dallon whines wordlessly. Spencer’s smile grows.

“Did he do good?” Sarah asks, and crawls up to rest her chin on Spencer’s shoulder.

“The best,” Spencer says, rolling Dallon’s balls gently in his hand, making Dallon’s back arch just a little.

“Such a good boy for us,” Sarah says and reaches around Spencer’s shoulder to trace soft fingertips down his chest and stomach.

The pride in her voice, the way they smile, Dallon feels something light off in his chest. Something like a firework, messy and shaking and so good. It almost feels like he’s going to cry, that shivery feeling and a sweet burn in the corners of his eyes, but it’s happiness. Their eyes both on him is a rare enough occurrence, with Brendon so loud and needy most of the time. It’s a good thing, too, Dallon thinks he might die if they did this all the time.

“Brendon ready to go again?” Spencer asks casually. The hand that had been holding Dallon’s balls travels farther down to brush over Dallon’s wet hole. That makes Dallon choke out a quick cry, and Spencer slips a finger into him as he does. Just a little rocking movement fucking in and out of him, barely a tease, but it echoes though Dallon’s bones.

“Hmmm,” Sarah hums and glances back. Dallon focuses long enough to look past her.

Brendon’s a sweaty mess at the end of the bed, watching them. His eyes are dark and unfocused but he smiles when he sees Dallon watching. It’s a sweet smile, young and somehow vulnerable despite the swollen redness of his mouth. His hands are still cuffed behind his back.

He’s mostly hard, cock flushed dark and leaking precome again. It twitches as they watch. Brendon is, Dallon remembers blurrily, an exhibitionist to the core.

“Close enough,” Sarah says and laughs, running a hand through Spencer’s hair. He grins up at her affectionately and then returns his gaze to Dallon, who twitches under the focus.

“Can you go again?” Spencer asks him. “It’s alright if you can’t, but I want Brendon to fuck you again if you can.”

Dallon takes a moment to approximate an inventory. He’s right on the edge, could come in minutes if Sarah or Spencer told him to and gave him a hand. He bears down for a moment on the finger Spencer has inside of him and sensing the motion Spencer crooks his finger just so to brush against his prostate. It makes stars explode behind his eyes and he wants to come so badly it’s a sharp physical ache but he also wants to _be good_ for Spencer and Sarah.

“I think,” he says belatedly, voice coming out hoarse. “Yes, I think so.”

Spencer pulls his finger free and Dallon whines a little bit, more from the sensation that anything.

“God, you’re so good,” Sarah says, that same sort-of awe sort-of pride in her voice as had been in Spencer’s. She’s pushing Spencer back towards Brendon in a moment, crawling around to brush soft hands down Dallon’s chest.

“Go manhandle Brendon a little, he’s being a big baby and won’t move on his own,” she directs Spencer, who laughs and goes to do as he’s told. Dallon forgets about them a moment later, under the soft attention of Sarah’s hands. She uses her fingernails so well, gentle scraping pressure that almost never makes it over into pain. Within moments he’s a writhing mess again.

“Sarah, Sarah,” he pants out, “please, I need-,”

“Shh,” she hushes him, and leans forward to press gentle kisses to his forehead, eyelids, cheeks. He calms slowly until at last she presses a soft kiss to his mouth and pulls back to run her fingernails through his sweaty hair.

“Do you think you can kneel up for me?” she asks, so softly, and Dallon considers. His thighs are shaking at the thought, his core muscles fluttering with exhaustion and use. He’s been fucked twice, forced to bear most of the work the first time.

“Dunno,” he manages, flushing ashamedly. Sarah shakes her head, still smiling.

“No, sweetheart, it’s fine. Here, I’ll help you,” she says and leans forward, delicate hands astonishingly strong levering him up to his knees.

He’s better when he’s upright, kneeing forward a few inches under Sarah’s gentle urging, until she’s behind him supporting him. His eyes are slipping closed as he does it, exhaustion fighting its way past his arousal.

Her hands trace down his arms to press fluttering touches around his cuffed wrists. He moans at the sensation, turning his wrists as much as he can in the limited range. She presses a kiss against his shoulder and slips a hand around his side, over his ribs and down his fluttering stomach muscles to press gently into his pelvis just above his cock.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs in his ear, and holds him as he shakes at her words. Her breasts press against his back, soft and so warm. He moans at the sensation, at her warm hands around him, at her words. He wants to touch her but the way his arms pull in the cuffs is just as good.

“Such a good, pretty boy for us, trying so hard,” she continues, sweeping the hand pressing into his pelvis back and forth in torturous little moments. They brush his pubic hair, send flares of heat through him, leave him incoherent and whining, bucking into the air for friction that won’t come.

“Please, I, please,” Dallon whines, not sure what he’s trying to say, not sure of what he wants, only that he wants more than what Sarah’s letting him have. He wants Brendon’s cock in him, wants to come right now, wants to kiss Sarah. He’s got what feels like lightning going through him with every motion Sarah makes and it’s destroying him.

Brendon crying out, shrill and almost making it through the second syllable of Spencer’s name, distracts him and he looks up.

Brendon’s on his knees, head back on Spencer’s shoulder, torso arched and pulled tight, flushed all the way down his chest. His cock bobs with his helpless movements, drawing Dallon’s eyes down. Spencer’s arm is around his stomach holding him up, _displaying_ him. His other hand is behind Brendon, hidden behind him, arm moving in a very specific, telling way.

Brendon cries out again and Spencer laughs, pulling his hand free. His fingers are dripping with lube, three of them. Brendon slumps back against his chest, panting like he’d just run a race, eyes vacant in the distance. He’s so hard it looks like it should be painful, his cock wet with lube and precum.

“Spencer,” Sarah says, faux-reproachfully. Spencer grins unrepentantly.

“He needed encouragement,” he says slyly, and taps Brendon’s hip until he blinks and shakes himself a little, pulling himself upright. “You with us, Bren? Alright?”

“M’fine,” Brendon pants. He looks ruined, actually, but he focuses with difficulty and pulls together a smile that’s a shade of his usual raunchy showmanship. “Got this.”

“That’s my boy,” Spencer says, and runs his hand through Brendon’s hair. “Wanna fuck Dallon again?”

Sarah's hand abruptly dips to grip the base of Dallon's cock, almost too tight. At the same moment her other hand slid down his ass to circle his hole. He cries out, too much sensation dancing like lightning behind his eyes. Sarah slips two fingers into him and if it hasn't been for her grip around the base of his cock he would have come right there, just from that.

Brendon curses, sounding wrecked and so turned on. When Dallon manages to open his eyes Brendon's eyes are on him, hot and dark and fascinated. His stomach turns over with the force of it.

“Yes,” Brendon breathes, staring at him. “Please, Spence, Sarah, I want-,”

Sarah's fingers thrust into Dallon, once and then twice and then pull free and he can't help it, can't stay upright, slips down until he's sitting on his legs again. His whole body feels like it's trembling, he feels high and fizzy and so, so good.

“You can’t stay up, can you?” Sarah says sympathetically, smoothing a hand between Dallon’s shoulder blades. When he shakes his head dazedly she hums and pauses for a moment.

“Uncuff Brendon, make him do some of the work,” she says to Spencer, who grins and sets to work. Sarah moves around and helps Dallon turn his head, brushing soft fingers down his cheek. She smiles at him so sweetly.

“I’d like it if you could keep from coming until Brendon does,” she says, “But I’m already so proud of you, you’ve done so, so well. If you can’t help it that’s fine.”

“Yes, Sarah,” he gasps out because he’s going to try. He’s going to be so good for them.

He’s rolled forward onto his stomach, hips supported by pillows hastily grabbed from the head of the bed. He can barely help, muscles shaking and dropping him when he tries to lift himself. He can barely prop himself up on his elbows, in the end.

Spencer helps to move Brendon around behind him and the he feels Spencer’s hands on his legs, spreading him open. He drifts on the feeling of being controlled like that, losing himself to it until he hears Sarah settle in front of him.

He opens his eyes. She smiles down at him and pets his hair.

“You good, sweetheart?” she asks.

He nods, deciding he can’t trust his voice. She pets him again.

“Here,” she says, and tilts his head down by the hair.

He gasps for breath. She’s got two finger inside herself, moving slowly, skin shiny with wetness. He can hear it too, wet noises that make his cock twitch.

“I,” he gets out, voice breaking, and she laughs breathlessly.

“Use your mouth, when you can,” she says and he nods again.

“Ready?” Spencer calls to him. His hands land on Dallon’s ass, spreading him open, running fingers through the come and lube that’s leaked from him. It feels filthy and so fucking hot.

“Yes,” he says, voice breaking, and Brendon’s cock nudges at him as soon as he says it.

It takes a moment to line up and then Brendon’s thrusting into him, not quite as hard as Spencer had but still hard enough to make Dallon cry out. It takes him a moment to remember Sarah’s words, a moment longer to get his eyes open and lean forward.

Sarah’s noises above him when he first tongues her clit are worth it. She tastes amazing, like Spencer and Brendon’s skin and like herself, and he can feel her movement on him doing most of the work. He can feel the shudder in Sarah’s thighs, the subtle twitch in her fingers every time he moves his tongue.

It’s good, so good there aren’t words, just the pooling of heat in his stomach, the impulse to nuzzle in further and do even better, the soft glow of pride that he’s doing so well. He’s drifting on it, thoughts flying apart like fireflies.

Brendon shifts his grip for a moment and then slams in again and Dallon loses himself, in the soft movement of Sarah against his mouth, the pounding rhythm Brendon is setting. His cock is heavy, painfully hard trapped against the blanket, but it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. He wants to please, more than to come, he wants them happy and proud.

Abruptly Sarah is whining, soft and high and sweet, and her flavor changes on his tongue. He doesn’t understand for a long moment, dimly chases it until her hand in his hair guides him away. He’s being pulled up, then, Spencer’s hands probably, and maybe Sarah’s. They’re touching him, soft touches through his hair and on his face, sliding gentle fingernails down his ribs and stomach. The change in position forces Brendon’s thrusting to something shallow and slow and changes Brendon’s angle, somehow even better. He whines, thick and muzzy. He can barely open his eyes.

“I think he’s under,” he hears Sarah say. Her tone is awed and he turns his face in the direction of her voice. Her hand moves to cradle his cheek.

“He is,” Spencer’s voice comes from his other side, sounding thick and surprised.

“Oh, fuck,” Brendon says, sounding broken and desperate, panting breathing forcing his voice reedy and thin. His hips pump once, and Dallon hears himself moan. It’s a soft noise.

“Dallon, sweetheart, you alright?” Sarah asks. It takes Dallon a moment to register that he’s being addressed.

“Mm,” he agrees, opening his eyes slowly. Sarah’s watching him, blue eyes so bright, little smile on her face so awed and proud. It makes happiness swirl through him, cool and sweet. He’d done well, then.

Spencer moves into his line of sight, takes over, lifting Dallon nearly bodily by the hips. Dallon does his best to help but his body is so far away, it takes him a while.

Brendon deepens his thrusts with the added room, whining with it, all of his rhythm and finesse evaporated into desperation and messy movement. Hitching noises fall from Dallon’s mouth without him quit giving them permission to. He’s falling into this movement, losing himself to this new sensation.

“Dallon, can you tell Brendon how much you want him to come? Beg for him, baby,” Sarah say, chin on Spencer’s straining shoulder again. She’s watching with hot, bright eyes and Dallon nods dimly, the knowledge that Sarah wants something from him sparking in him.

It takes him a long moment to work out word but they come easy enough, he _does_ want Brendon to come in him. He wants Brendon’s come in him, wants Brendon sated and happy.

“I want, please,” Dallon begs, words slurring together, “Please, Brendon, please come in me, I want-,”

Brendon whines, slams into him on last time and stays here. Dallon can feel his come, hot and slipping out when Brendon finally, reluctantly pulls out. It makes him moan, long and low. His cock is still hard, still heavy, and he feels pride rise in him like a sunrise because he’d done well, he’d done what Sarah had asked of him.

Spencer’s hands turn him over, a moment later, firm and kind lying Dallon on his stomach. He’s working on the buckles of the cuffs, Dallon realizes, and feels a pang of loss before Spencer’s moving his arms down to his side and turning him back over onto his back. His arms ache, his shoulders sting, all of his muscles are screaming with exhaust and his body is burning with the need to come but it’s all so far away. He thinks he could stay here as long as Spencer wanted him to.

“Oh, Dallon, you were so good, oh honey,” he hears Sarah say, and then her hand is on his cock and he whimpers because he has to be _good_ but it’s hard, it’s so hard and he wants to come so badly.

Brendon presses into his side, a hot, squirming weight that smells of come and sweat and presses hot hands against his stomach, thumbs at his nipples.

“You can come now, Dallon,” Spencer says quietly, somewhere above him, and Sarah squeezes her hand around his cock.

That’s enough. He’s coming, white waves of pleasure that come in and in and in and he drowns in it, goes under and stops existing for a little eternity. He feels his muscles spasm, knows he’s crying out, knows it could almost be a scream. He loses himself, loses everything, drifts for a length of time he can’t find a frame of reference for. He stops existing.

Sarah is making soothing noises when awareness comes again. He’s still so far away, exhaustion pulling him under again. Brendon is already there, a snoring weight beside him, face tucked into Dallon’s shoulder. Spencer’s on his far side, running a hand through Brendon’s hair. When he sees Dallon looking at him he reaches out to run a hand through his hair as well. The sensation echoes through his body, distant and gentle.

“You did so well, Dallon, I’m so proud,” Sarah says and he whines wordlessly. Her hands land on his shoulders and press against the knots there. It takes several minutes for the worst of them to unlock and Dallon frowns the whole time. He wants to sleep.

Finally she kisses his forehead and tucks a blanket over him. He’s asleep before Sarah’s finished tucking herself in beside him.

-0-

Dallon wakes slowly.

He’s sore, he realizes dimly, and it takes him a while to remember why. He frowns and shifts around, curious at the knots in his shoulders and the soreness in his ass.

Brendon lands on him a moment later, knocking all the breath from his chest and pressing messy kisses to the general vicinity of his mouth. He remembers the afternoon in a rush of memory and laughs a little bit, trying unsuccessfully to heave Brendon off.

“I said wake him gently, Brendon,” Spencer complains from across the room. Brendon flips him off and starts to lever Dallon up until Dallon gives in and sits up.

Sarah is standing by the door, cup of coffee in hand. Spencer’s beside her, arm around her waist, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. It’s so domestic it kind of hurts to look at.

“Good morning,” Sarah says with a grin and a sip of coffee. “Or evening, actually.”

“Good morning,” Dallon says, trying to pretend like he’s grouchy. Brendon grumps noisily and climbs up to straddle his lap, knocking Dallon’s limbs around until he’s apparently in a satisfactory position for what Brendon has in mind.

“I missed you,” Brendon says, grinning at him.

Dallon rolls his eyes.

“I was asleep like-,” he pauses to squint at the clock, “five hours. You were asleep for most of that too, dude.”

“Fair enough,” Brendon acknowledges easily, swarming forward even more to hook his arms around Dallon’s neck and rub his nose against Dallon’s cheek with typical Brendon shamelessness. “But I meant the past few days.”

“Oh,” Dallon chokes out.

His chest is aching suddenly. He doesn’t really believe him, _can’t_ really believe him. Brendon doesn’t mean it the way Dallon does when he says it. He’s almost resentful, suddenly. Fucking Spencer, taking care of him, giving him presents that they picking out _special just for you_ , whatever. Fucking Sarah, being basically perfect in every way, saying everything Dallon needs to hear without even trying. Fucking Brendon, making him feel loved when he’s going to have to go home to his empty apartment to play morose Smiths songs until his fingers are sore and he gives up and goes to jack off.

Alone.

In his room.

Alone.

Fucking Morrissey.

“You should just move in like Spencer, so I don’t have to call you all the time to get you to come over,” Brendon says casually and Dallon inhales like he’d just gotten kicked in the chest.

“ _Brendon_ ,” Sarah and Spencer say at the same time, sounding-

Sounding kind of scared, actually. Dallon can’t understand. He can’t focus his thoughts.

“Whatever,” Brendon says, sounding rebellious, but he’s pulling away and his cheeks are turning bright red. “I know you have some kind of isolated tortured artist thing going on but come on, we’ve been doing this for over a year, I want you _here_ and I don’t think it’s wrong to ask-,”

“Brendon,” Sarah repeats, snapping, and Spencer crosses his arms with a glare. They’re both glancing at Dallon out of the corners of their eyes. They look frightened.

Dallon can’t breathe.

He stares at them. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t say yes, right? He can’t _move in_ with them, that’s something people in relationships do and they’re not together. His chest is aching, sharp pain that can’t be just the fact that he still hasn’t managed to draw in a breath.

“What…” he manages to get out. Sarah winces and reaches out to tug Brendon off of Dallon. He goes easily, leaves Dallon feeling cold and alone and isolated.

“We didn’t want to do it like this-,” Spencer begins. Dallon inhales sharply, interrupting him, going lightheaded.

 _This is it_ , he thinks dizzily, _this is where they break up with me_. Except they can’t, because they’d never been together. He hadn’t even gotten to have them, have any of them before he lost them all. It isn’t _fair_.

“But yeah, this was kind of. Going to be lead-up to asking you to move in with us,” Spencer finishes, and his tone finally registers. He’s embarrassed. Not disgusted or regretful or uncomfortable. _Embarrassed_.

“I,” he says, chest hurting. “Isn’t that… don’t people in… relationships, do that?”

His words die off into silence. It lasts a long time.

“Take Brendon out of here,” Sarah says at last and Spencer nods, grabbing Brendon around the waist and hoisting him bodily out of the room, ignoring his protesting the whole way.

Dallon stares at Sarah and wishes he had his clothes on. She sighs and rubs her eyes.

“I’m realizing we may have been idiots,” she says at last. Dallon stays quiet, watches her as she comes over and sits down next to him. She offers him a hand and he hesitates a long time before taking it. She laces their fingers together.

“When we started this, Brendon and I, it was because Brendon loved Spencer and Spencer loved Brendon and I wanted to make it work,” she tells him, and Dallon nods. He knows this much, at least, has gathered the details into a sketchy facsimile of the whole. “I love him too, now. Maybe not quite the same way, but I don’t think that actually matters.”

“I get that,” Dallon says, and his voice comes out hoarse. Jealousy is pulsing through his veins, hot and poison.

“When you came into the band, do you know what Brendon said to me?” Sarah asks.

Dallon shakes his head. He feels like he’s got acid in his mouth, like if he opens up to speak he’ll spill it everywhere and ruin everything.

“He said he wanted you,” Sarah says quietly. “He asked me if I thought we could make it work. He asked Spencer the same thing, you know that?”

Dallon can’t breathe again, his lungs stuck on some internal obstacle.

“I said yes,” Sarah says simply. “So did Spencer. Dallon, we’ve wanted you to be part of our relationship the whole time. Did you really not know that?”

Pain, in his chest, but not quite the same pain as he’s used to. Dawning pain. Prickling in the corner of his eyes he has to close his eyes again. He feels his hand squeeze without thinking and a moment later an answering squeeze from Sarah.

“I didn’t-,” he says, and then his voice breaks and he has to start over. “I thought. You just wanted.”

“Oh, fuck, Dallon. It was never about the sex,” Sarah says, sounding so sad, and then laughs a little. “Well, never just about the sex.”

Dallon feels his tears spill over and hopes fiercely Sarah won’t notice. A moment later she does, a quiet noise and then gentle, cool fingertips wiping away the scant tears.

“Please move in,” Sarah says gently. “We want you here, we want you with us. All of us do.”

Dallon has to spend a moment catching his breath, has to breathe through the sweet pain in his chest until he can speak.

“Okay,” he says at last. “Okay, I’d like that.”

“Yes!” Sarah crows, hopping up and running to the door. She throws it open and shouts down the hall, “Spencer! Brendon! He said yes!”

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” Brendon shouts from far away and then there’s pounding footsteps and Brendon’s bursting into the room, leaping onto the bed and slamming into Dallon. They topple into a pile of limbs and laughter and messy, mismatched kissing. Sarah follows a moment later, more sedate, and then Spencer bulldozes them all into a heap.

Dallon can’t breathe, three separate people piled on top of him. There’s an elbow on his bladder and another in his ear, someone’s kissing him and someone else – Brendon – is singing at the top of their lungs. It’s a mess, and hot, and loud, and.

And he gets it all, he realizes giddily, joy dawning through him like a sunrise. He gets them all.


End file.
